Chaos
by impavid fool
Summary: The string tied between you two keeps bringing you both together, and you think it's time to let both frayed ends meet. You think it's time to give in. [Alex/Piper]


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The wall nearly crushes her spine when you shove her away. Anger and betrayal make your eyes sting with tears, and you want to hurt her. You want her to feel pain, you want her to know just how _fucked_ she is, and just how _fucked_ she makes everything around her. More than anything, you want to walk away, you want to slap her across the face –– _hard_ –– and walk away. You're tired of this game; you're getting old. You're exhausted, and love has never worked in your favour.

She's smart. She knows you hate her, and when she starts to cry, you can't look. You don't deserve to be guilt-tripped, you don't deserve to feel like crap. You don't deserve the shit she's constantly throwing at you, because you've _had enough_. She reaches forwards, grabs your hand; you instantly flinch, glare at her, pull back so roughly you cause her to lose balance slightly. Once, she admitted to you how scary you are when angry; she never liked it when you grew impatient with her, when you yelled at her, scolded her, and you can see that fear in her eyes right now.

And you hate yourself. You're disgusting. You're vile. You're dark and corrupt. Rotting. So fucking alone, and unwanted. Your mother's gone, your father doesn't exist, and the love of your life keeps pushing you aside, she just keeps _pushing you away_. Your independence is lacking; you're transforming into this creature you barely even recognise. You're frightened, paranoid; you find it easier to hate. You find it easier to hold people at arm's length; you've come to avoid attachment, avoid any closeness with anyone at all costs. It's how you survive, it's how you've _always_ survived, until _she_ came into the picture.

Tears trickle down her cheeks and she roughly wipes them away. She's angry now as well. Confused. _She's trying to be you_. Trying to be manipulative, get her own revenge; trying to play chess, when the pieces she uses are yours. Your pieces are losing their colour, they've been abused, touched by skilled hands again and again; the chessboard is cracking, and you've played this game for so long all your opponents have lost interest. All you have is her, this silly, puzzled girl. She's learnt several of your tricks, she's tried to use them against you, and they're so intimately familiar, you're not impressed. You're disappointed. She wants to be like you –– even if she denies it –– because she's always seen you as the strong one.

When, in fact, you're as weak as everybody else who crawls along these hallways.

But you don't like _you_. You _loathe_ you. And Piper is not you. She can try, she _has_ tried, and she can't do it. It's not in her nature. She can be twisted and bitter, but she's warm. She's _real_. She shies away from rebellion, because she knows better. She's smart, clever –– you, you're a mess. You failed school, you failed at finding a decent job; you failed at living.

'Why couldn't you just let me go?'

Because of her, you're back here again, trapped behind bars and steel fences. Humiliated once more. She's snatched away your freedom out of some selfish pride, and you're hurt. You need to cry. You've needed to cry since the day she left you, all of those years ago back in Paris, but you've held your head high. You've held it high for too long, your neck is breaking. You wait. You wait for her to answer, but she's silent, and her silence is her submission. She steps back.

(_You should have let me go_.)

Your patience is weakening. _Your body is weakening, and your heart is in blisters_. You mistake your sadness for anger; you mistake your pain for bitterness. And you mistake your love for hatred. You yell her name, you _demand_ an answer, you want to be looked at, but she doesn't even bat an eye. It's a cruel contrast. You're breaking right in front of her, and slowly, _slowly_, you're reopening closed wounds. The mask is slipping from your face, but you've worn it for so long, your flesh rips off with it.

The one time in your life when you needed her, she left. You still don't forgive her, you _can never_ forgive her. You pretend to be the one in charge, the one wearing the crown, but you know you're merely dragged along behind her. She's subtle in her dominance, and even she doesn't know it. She's tugged you from place to place, messed with your fragile, little heart and you _still love her_. It's a destructive passion, it fills you with a scolding rage and an agony which persists.

She's the one who chained you down, not the other way around.

You're not the person you thought you were.

You're exactly like your mother: sharp and fierce externally, but, inside, you're soft. When faced with love, you melt, you carry your heart on your sleeve.

The chapel is grim. Shadows loom over the walls, and you hate this place because it reminds you of her. It's the only place where there is privacy, though. It's the only place where you can tumble, beat your scars, lose control and let her see you for what you are. She still stands, watching you; no more tears fall from her eyes. She knows she's fucked up, she knows she's hurt you, and she isn't proud. She's upset. She's upset because you're upset. She's a pathetic opponent; weak, stupid, unbearable.

'I needed you back.'

_I_.

Me. _I_ need _you_ back.

You scowl. This isn't fair.

'I told you to stay the fuck away from me––'

'Alex––'

'So, stay the fuck away, yeah?'

'Alex, _please_––'

'You're nothing. You're nothing to me. Do us both a favour and keep your distance. Or I _will_ hurt you.' (_Break you, snap your wrists, twist back your fingers –– I'll fucking hurt you_.)

Shock. She believes you.

(_You're __**nothing**__ to me_.)

In this moment, you're grateful you didn't remove your glasses. They manage to shadow your eyes which have always betrayed you. They always express too much. (_She's always liked your eyes_.)

'I love you.'

Everything shatters apart.

'Don't say that––'

'I love you.' She's stronger than you'll ever be; she is capable of honesty. You try to ignore the tears staining her cheeks again; you try to ignore your heart. She pulls at the strings, so hard, so roughly; your heart pounds against your ribcage, makes it hard to breathe –– you fear your heart will explode if she says another word. 'Alex, I love you.'

You look away, and your mind screams at you to turn your back.

For once in your life, _spare yourself_.

You've always pursued danger, you've always found comfort in rebellion. An outcast has been an easy role for you to master; _it's what you are_. Ever since you were a child, you weren't exactly _stable_. You have no sense of morality, you've never cared to understand the rights and wrongs. You just live. You cope. You let life take you wherever. You don't plan. You don't _consider_. It's why you're fantastic at what you do (_did_). It's why you were (_are_) the best of the best; importing drugs is no easy business, but you're a machine, a whizz –– a _genius_. It's sad, because it's the only thing you're good at.

Piper reflects the person you could have become, if fate had been generous.

A good girl. So hopelessly in love with you, she'll do anything to keep you close. Blind about the facts, uncaring about what you did –– _she'll follow you anywhere_. It's scary. Terrifying. It's all an illusion. Piper thinks so little of herself, her self-esteem has never been great. It's an illusion to believe you're dealing the cards, and it's an illusion to believe she was your puppet all along. It's an illusion to believe she's the only one who was fucked up through the love she offered you.

She loves you, she needs you.

Your pride is crushed when you realise: you love her, too.

You need her, too.

'Stop. Stop it.' _Stop talking, you're killing me_.

She stops. She waits. She lets another tear fall.

(_Inevitable. This, they, __**them**__. Are inevitable._)

'Why did you do it? Why did you have me arrested?' Your voice shakes, but you have no energy left. You don't care.

'I was scared.'

'About _what_?'

She jars her teeth. 'About them hurting you. His henchmen. They could kill you, and I––' Her voice catches in her throat, and she covers her mouth with her hand. '––I couldn't stand not knowing where you were. Not knowing if you were still alive.' Her hands falls, she's trembling. '_Fuck_. I know I'm a selfish bitch, but I did this for you –– mostly. I did this for you because––' She gets angry, because she's crying again. She hates how emotional you make her without having to try. You're ashamed. '––because I can't lose you, Alex, I _can't_––'

'You're impossible.' You sigh. You have to interrupt her; you can't listen to more. _She's breaking your heart all over again_. 'You're fucking–– _fucking impossible_, Piper! What do you want?' You're referring to her choice, her decision, her _options_. Your words taste bitter. She once considered you an option, and turned away. _Again_. 'I don't know what to do, because every time I let you in, you just pull away. You _always_ keep pulling away, Piper, so tell me what the fuck you want.'

'I'm sorry.' A whisper. Gentle.

You kick the alter. '_Fuck you_.'

'Guess we're even.'

Something snaps. You look at her, amazed, surprised she could stoop so low. Then you move. You come forwards, and you _loom_ over her; she shrinks back, but she doesn't cower. She remains standing, looks up at you, prepares for the worst. She's been preparing herself for so long. 'Even?' You nearly laugh. In fact, you _do_ laugh, but there's no humour. You laugh in disbelief, in despair, _mockingly_. You laugh _at_ her. 'You left _me_! Back in Paris, you left _me_. And you left me _again_ here. This might come as a shock to you, but you're not the only person stuck in this shit –– I am too. Fucking consider how _I_ feel for once, or, I don't know, come to terms with what a complete _fuck_ you've been to me.'

'You named me, though,' her voice is softer; she's not fighting. 'And you fucked me over in Chicago, Alex.'

'Yeah? You tore me apart. Twice. Cry me a fucking river, kid, and then drown in it.'

A pause. Neither of you look away.

'... we are not even. We will never get _close_ to even.'

Piper stands firm. Holds her ground. But says nothing. You envy her –– somehow, she manages to maintain her composure, and you desperately search for a hidden message in her eyes, an emotion she's unwilling to express through words. You catch nothing.

'I'm not nothing to you.'

Your heart stops. She can read you like a book.

'Fuck you.' You can't say anymore. Those two words have lost their initial meaning. You've abused them, used them wrongly. Between the two of you, those words mean_ more_.

When she grasps your hand, you pull away, but she's stubborn. She grasps your other hand, you tug, she pulls, clings to your collar, forces you forward, and you press your hand to her shoulder, pushing her, and her lips are soft against yours. She exhales, kisses again, and you want to kiss her too, your body is _aching_, but you aggressively shove her back.

Silence. You've forgotten how to breathe and watch her closely. She's lost all sense of reason (_as have you_) and steps forwards again, and you can feel her warm breath against your lips, feel her desire and love; it's a strong force which wraps its hold around you, squeezes tight, makes it impossible to run away. Then, you see it –– you see everything in her irises. This past she shares with you, this hell you both keep returning to. You see how puzzled and innocent she is, you see the damage you've caused, and you see her desperation to try again, _to try again, start again_.

('_I love you...'_)

Still. And everything. The love never went, it was –– _is_ –– always there. And Piper doesn't love a few things about you, she doesn't love the _good_ things about you. She loves _everything_ about you. Your twisted past, your lack of morals, your fragility, your pride, _you_. She loves _Alex_. And she's sorry; she's sorry for loving you this much, _too much_, and she's sorry for abandoning you. She's _sorry_.

You cool. You calm.

You accept. It's all that can be done.

The string tied between you two keeps bringing you both together, and you think it's time to let both frayed ends meet. You think it's time to give in.

Your lips brush against hers, and she moves away a little, hesitates. More hesitation. A fracture of a second, and you're overwhelmed. A light kiss, then another, another, _again_. She inhales, grasps your collar, and lets the illusion of your dominance take over. You both kiss greedily, rough, passionate, reckless. She's shivering when your hands touch her face, her breasts, her hips, and you tug off her top violently, and don't waste a second to kiss her again when the fabric passes her lips.

One of you moans, and you feel hot tears. They _burn_ your flesh.

You gasp when you realise these tears are your own.

The pad of her thumb wipes one away; you grab her hand, intertwine your fingers with hers, kiss her, push her gently against the wall; she nips your lower lip, runs her free hand through your hair, pulls possessively, _needy_, breathes your name. You shudder.

It's a cycle; a torturous cycle between the two of you.

Neither of you can stop, though. (_Neither of you __**want**__ to stop._)

Briefly, you pull away, catch her eye. And you see this glimmer of naïvety, urgency, an enigma of truths and lies. But you also see something twisted, ruinous; there's too much rage in her irises, too much poison –– elements that have grown at your hands. She smiles, twitches a small smile; a smile which is a mix of sadness and joy, but still manages to light up her darkening features.

Yet it's all her.

'What?' Her voice is so quiet, you barely hear her.

You do, though, and you can't answer. You're far too afraid to speak. When you kiss her again, this time, neither one of you retreat.

(_'... I love you, too_.')

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End file.
